


Do I Wanna Know?

by katieelizabeth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-His Last Vow, Post-Reichenbach, Post-The Sign of Three, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieelizabeth/pseuds/katieelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots based on Arctic Monkey's 'Do I Wanna Know?'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Until I Fall Asleep

**Author's Note:**

> These just popped into my head while I was listening to 'Do I Wanna Know' by Arctic Monkey's.  
> The titles and quotes are from that song.  
> Eidelweiss is from 'The Sound of Music'.  
> No characters belong to me but all of the mistakes do, unfortunately.  
> Please read and review x x

_'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat_

_Until I fall asleep._

_\- Arctic Monkeys_

_~_

He’d turned up two days before, covered in blood, some of which was his own and some of which wasn’t, bruised and battered with a badly twisted ankle and concussion.  He knew he’d scared her, he’d scared himself if he was completely honest.  He was now stuck in her flat for a few days, longer if his Pathologist got her way. 

She’d taken a few days off work to look after him.  She fussed over him and bought him endless cups of tea and plates of cake, today was freshly baked scones with clotted cream and jam.  His was sitting, uneaten on the coffee table, he’d been thinking when Molly had bought it in and, while he’d registered the new baked good, he hadn’t roused himself to eat it. 

He strode briskly down the corridors of his Mind Palace, opening the door to the room where he kept all information pertaining to Moriarty.  Strictly speaking it was a padded cell, it was necessary since he didn’t want Moriarty roaming freely around his head.  His next move was planned, in a week, if he got his way, two if she got hers, he would be leaving and flying to Zagreb in Croatia, before he’d been attacked he’d got some information of a faction of Moriarty’s web who operated in nearby Ivanja Reka.  As he went over his plan again, ignoring the taunts ‘Memory Moriarty’ flung at him, something began to infiltrate the carefully built padded walls.  It was music.  It wasn’t coming from the room, that much was obvious, it was coming from somewhere else.  He withdrew, closing the door firmly behind him, locking the padlock and hurrying away.  The music didn’t seem to be coming from his Mind Palace at all, instead it seemed to be coming from outside. 

He shook himself back into Molly’s small living room and realised the music was coming from the television.  On the screen was a man, sitting on an ornate sofa, playing a guitar and singing about someone called Edelweiss, seven children were sitting on the floor around him.  Sherlock frowned, wondering exactly what Molly was watching.  His eyes skittered over to where she was sitting, his mouth already open to ask her why she turned Jeremy Kyle off and replaced it with this musical thing.  But his scathing question died in his throat as he gazed at her.  Her eyes were fixed on the screen, she swayed from side to side as she sang along.

 _“Small and white, clean and bright.  You look happy to meet me.”_ she murmured, her voice soft and melodious.

He was transfixed, by her, by the song, by her slightly off pitch soprano.  She wasn’t the best singer but he didn’t care, it sounded perfect.  He spent the remainder of the film watching Molly as she sang along to every song, her attention never wavering from the television set.

The song wove in and out of his dreams that night, always accompanied by sunshine and Molly.

When Molly returned to work, after deciding he was well enough to be left, he found the DVD Molly had been watching and watched it over and over.  Just to pass the time - obviously.  Most of the singing he could do without, but that song, the Edelweiss song, was on his mind and had been for days.  It irritated him but he couldn’t seem to block it out, it had even started invading his Mind Palace.  It seemed to be in every single room, everywhere.  Permeating all the walls, nothing could hold it back, not even the walls of Moriarty’s cell. 

The day after he found an old mp3 player hidden away in one of Molly’s drawers and downloaded the song onto the laptop he kept there.  By the time he was ready to leave, he knew the words to the song off by heart.

After being there for just under two weeks, he had to leave.  Molly held him tightly and kissed his cheek before stepping back and letting him go.  He left with a heavy heart, he wished he could just stay, cocooned away from the real world in Molly’s safe little flat, where she bought him tea and baked goods.  But he knew he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to.

Four nights later he was in a warehouse in Ivanja Reka, he’d spent three days following the leader of Moriarty’s Croatian contingent and he was exhausted.  Time to sleep was rare so he was attempting to make the most of it, the earbuds of the mp3 player firmly in his ears, he fell asleep to the sound of Edelweiss playing over and over.


	2. 'Cause I Always Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first attempt at writing a drunk person, I hope it isn't too bad.  
> No characters are mine but the mistakes are.  
> Title and quote is from Arctic Monkey's 'Do I Wanna Know'.  
> Please read and comment x x

_Ever thought of calling when you've had a few?  
'Cause I always do_

_\- Arctic Monkey's_

_  
~_

Sherlock fumbled with his phone, peering blearily at the screen as he attempted to dial the number, his fingers not nearly as coordinated as they usually were. 

She answered quickly, her voice quiet and curious.  “Hello?”

“’Olly!!  Is you!” he exclaimed before burping.

There was some movement on the other end of the line before she spoke again.  “Sherlock?  Is that you?”

“Yup, it’s me.  Sherlock Holmes.  I know ash.  I do.  _You_ know I do, don’t you Mmmolly?”

“What?!” she shouted in his ear.  “I can barely hear you over the music, Sherlock.  Where are you?”

He peered around, squinting through the flashing strobe lights.  “Club.  There’s men dancin’ in their pants.” Sherlock broke off and giggled.  “In their pants, Mollllly!!”

“In their p…Sherlock, are you in a gay club?”

He squinted round the room before turning to John, who was slumped at the table, and punching him in the arm.

“Oww!” the doctor exclaimed indignantly, jerking upright.

“John!” he hissed.  “Is this a gaaaay club?”

John peered around.  “Could bee!  Ha ha!!”

“John’s there?” Molly asked.

“Course, tis his stag night!”

His Pathologist sighed heavily down the line.  “Was there any reason you called?”

“Ummmm…” he paused and screwed up his face.  “…don’t remember.”

She tutted.  “Right well…”

“No!” he exclaimed suddenly.  “There was a man, Mmmollyy!  He said I didn’t know ash, but I did…I dooo!  Don’t I?!”

“Sure, you do Sherlock.  Y’know, you really shouldn’t be this drunk…how much have you had?”

He frowned, lowering his head so he was level with his empty measuring cylinder, closing one eye as he focussed on the foamy mark around the rim.  “One ooor two…m’be three.”

There was a long moment of silence, punctuated by a muffled voice, his alcohol fogged brain couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. 

Molly sighed.  “It’s Meena.  Another boyfriend crisis.  I won’t be a mo.”

Sherlock gazed drowsily at the scarred table top, listening to the soft sound of movement coming down the phone line.

Suddenly there was the sound of a door closing and then Molly spoke again.  “Sherlock?  Are you still there?”

“Course.  Whoo w’sthat?”

“Who was who?” 

“The person you were just speaking too!  Obviously.  I am the one who’s ‘pparently drunk, _you_ should be quicker, Mmolly Hooper.” he replied, popping the p, loudly.

She tutted again.  “Sherlock, maybe you…”

He sat bolt upright, staring unseeingly at the people in the clubby thing.  “Shhh!” he said loudly.  “Olly…shhh!”

“What?  What’s wrong?”

“You won’t be Molly Hooper ‘nymore.”

“I won’t what?” she asked confusedly.

He harrumphed, trying and failing to get off the bar stool.  His legs seemed to be acting independently of his body.  “You won’t be Holly…Molly, Molly Hooper.  You’ll be ‘Olly…Holly…” he broke off, sorting frantically through his fuzzy mind palace to find the right name.  “…s’mthing.  Holly, Molly s’mthing.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Sherlock.”

He groaned in frustration.  “Your name!!  Your name’ll be d’ffrent.  You’ll have your f-fi…fianz…whatsits name.”

“Tom’s.” she said quietly.

“Ezactly.  Tom’s name.  His.  Not yours.  So you’ll be Mollytom…” he stopped. That wasn’t right.  “No, no, no.  Molly…Molly…”

“Baxter.”

“Baxter!?!” he bellowed, slapping his hand on the table.  “Molly Baxter!!  Stupid, stupid name!  Hooper’s better.  Hooperhooperhooper.  Mmollyhooper.  Ooor Holmes.  Holmes’s even better.  Mollyholmes.  Ha ha!” there was complete silence on the end of the phone, Sherlock frowned and pulled the thing away from his ear, squinting at the screen and giving it a shake.  “Molleeee?” he called plaintively, attempting to press it back to his ear and hitting his cheek instead.  “’ave you gone?” he slurred, when he’d finally located his ear.  Damn thing must’ve moved.

“No.  I’m still here.  Sherlock, I think you should probably go home.”

“Home?”

“Yes, home.  You know, Baker Street.  I think you’ve had enough to drink.”

He grunted.  “M’be.  Tired.  A bit.  John’sleep already.” he glanced sideways at his doctor friend, who was clearly asleep.  He gave him a shove.  “John!”

“Huh?  What?”

“Goin’ home.  Mymolly says I should.”

John tilted his head.  “Home?  My home.  My Mary.  I do love her.  We’re getting’ married y’know Sh’lock.  Mmarried.  Married, married, married.”

“Do sh’tup, John.” he grumbled, finally managing to get to his feet.  “Molly, Olly?”

“Still here, Sherlock.”

“Good!” he exclaimed, slightly louder than he’d intended.  “Goin’ home.”

“Ok, well…I’ll speak to you tomorrow then.”

“John’s getting’ married, y’know.” he mumbled, attempting to get his arm into the correct hole of his coat.

“Yes, I know.”

He grunted, narrowly avoiding punching John as he swung his coat round, the thing seemed to be malfunctioning.  “To Mary…he l’ves her.  He l’ves Marymorstan.  Ha!  Mmary Mmorstan.  I l’ve you Mmolly Hoooper.” his Molly didn’t reply.  “Molly...you ‘sleep?”

“Just get home safely, yeah.  And get some sleep.”

“Sleep, myMolly.  Goodsleep.”

“Yes, sleep’s good.  I’ll text you tomorrow or something.  Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“G’night, Mollee Hooper.”

* * *

Across London, Molly Hooper stared down at her phone, her heart pounding in her chest.  _He’s drunk._   Her brain whispered.  _He didn’t mean it.  He didn’t know what he was saying._ But her heart seemed to be having trouble listening.

She swallowed hard, pressing the phone to her chest.  This was Sherlock, he didn’t say things like that, to anyone, ever.  He thought that love was a disadvantage, a defect.  Still, it was reassuring to know that he spoke as much rubbish as any normal person when he was completely pissed.  She hoped he’d get home ok, god knew what kind of trouble a drunk Sherlock Holmes could find, he found enough when he was sober.

Suddenly there was a soft knock on the door behind her.  “Mols?”

Tom.  Molly grimaced.  She hadn’t meant to lie to him, she really, really hadn’t but she couldn’t think of anything else to say, it had come out automatically, without much thought on her part.  She hated to lie, particularly to Tom, sweet, kind Tom, the antithesis to Sherlock and his abrasiveness.  Both men had been highly solicitous when they met, even Sherlock.  He hadn’t actually voiced any opinions on Tom before the drunken phone call, though that could’ve been because they didn’t discuss him.  He was mentioned in passing when Sherlock had asked for help with John’s stag night but apart from that he’d remained uncharacteristically quiet.  She was kind of glad, though she did sometimes wonder what he thought.  Not that it mattered, at least that’s what she told herself, she wasn’t entirely convinced though.

Tom knocked again.  “Mols…everything ok?”

She sucked in a deep breath and shook her head.  She couldn’t stay in Tom’s spare room all night and anyway, she didn’t care what Sherlock thought.  He wasn’t important.  Tom was.  Lovely, dependable Tom.  With that thought she pulled open the door, to reveal a concerned looking Tom.  “Everything’s fine.” she said with a smile.

“You sure?” he asked, stepping closer and pushing her hair behind her ear.

Molly nodded and stretched up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.  “Course.”

“Meena ok?” he murmured, leaning down to steal another kiss.

“Yep.” she replied, letting him pulled her closer.  “Just boyfriend stuff, like I said.  I’ll phone her in the morning.”

Tom hummed, kissing her again.  “I poured you more wine.” he murmured, pulling away.  “And got the ice cream.”

“Chocolate?”

“Of course and Revenge of the Cybermen is all ready to go.”

“Great.  I love that one.  C’mon, that ice cream won’t eat itself.” 


	3. Now I've Thought It Through

_Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new_

_Now I've thought it through_

\- Arctic Monkey's

~

The ring didn’t feel right. 

It never had really.  Not when she’d first put it on and not now, even after eight months of wearing it.  The ring itself was beautiful, white gold band and a diamond which wasn’t too big or too small, it was perfect. 

She’d never been the type of woman who dreamt of getting married, even when she was younger.  She daydreamed about being a doctor not what her wedding dress would look like or what the first dance would be.  But if she had, she probably would’ve imagined something slightly more unique, something which reflected her personality and unusual job.  Her ring, well, there was probably millions of rings, on millions of fingers which were exactly the same. 

Molly sighed, twisting the band around her finger.  She knew she sounded ungrateful and she hated herself for it.  Tom was as lovely as ever, though he’d been talking non-stop about setting a date since John and Mary’s wedding a month ago.  She felt sick to her stomach every time she thought about it.  It was unbearable, to the point where she’d asked for extra shifts and told him it was compulsory overtime.  She hadn’t seen Tom for almost a week now, she knew she couldn’t carry on, couldn’t run away from it forever.  Tom, bless him, had been sweet and understanding which only made her feel worse.  Now as well as nausea, she felt guilt when she thought about him and the wedding.

Suddenly the machine in front of her pinged, letting her know there was five minutes left to wait.  Twisting round, she glanced at Sherlock who was sat hunched over his favourite microscope.  While she was busy not thinking about her wedding, he consumed her thoughts, what he’d said when he had called her replayed over and over.  Oh, she knew he’d been completely off his face and couldn’t be held responsible for what he’d said but that didn’t stop her thinking about it. 

He hadn’t mentioned the phone call at all and neither had she.  She assumed he’d forgotten about it which didn’t surprise her.  She just wished…actually she didn’t know what she wished.  She had already been having doubts before he’d said it, though it had confused her.

He’d actually been around quite a lot, both at Barts and at her flat.  He’d stayed with her every night for the past two weeks, mostly he snuck in while she was asleep and commandeered her sofa.  He hadn’t offered much of an explanation at first, but after the sixth day of finding him dead to the world in her living room, she’d demanded an explanation.  He told her he was on a case and couldn’t sleep at his flat but hadn’t really explained why.  That had become clear when she’d dropped by Baker Street to have tea with Mrs Hudson, she had gone upstairs to Sherlock’s flat to deposit a basket of his washing and come face to face with a tall brunette woman, that she vaguely recognised from the wedding, coming out of his bathroom wearing one of his t-shirts and little else.  Even after that he’d still be cagey, though she had ascertained that he needed the woman, or Janine, for a case, she knew full well that there was more to it than that but he refused to say.

 “How long?” the Consulting Detective asked suddenly.

Molly blinked, turning back to the centrifuge to hide her blush.  Thankfully he hadn’t even looked up when he’d spoken so her staring had gone unnoticed.  She dropped her eyes to the screen on the machine, which now read three minutes which meant she’d spent a full two minutes staring at him.  “Three minutes.” she replied.

He grunted in response.

She rolled her eyes as her phone began to ring from inside her pocket.  She pulled it out, her heart sinking as she saw the name flashing on the screen.  Reluctantly, she jabbed the ‘answer’ button and pressed it to her ear.  “Tom, hi.”

“Mols, where are you?”

Frowning she looked down at the counter top in front of her.  “Um…at work.  Where should I be?”

“You forgot.”

“Forgot what?” she asked, glancing round at Sherlock who was still seemingly engrossed in his samples.

“Lunch.  In Caffé Nero, with me.  We agreed on one o’clock, didn’t we?”

“Oh!” she gasped and peered frantically at her watch, it was almost twenty to two.  “Oh god!  I’m sorry!  I totally forgot.”

“Well, that’s a relief.  I thought something awful had happened to you.”

“Nope…work’s just been insane today.  Sorry, again.”

Tom chuckled.  “S’ok.  You can come now, unless you’ve already had lunch.”

“No.  No, I haven’t but I’m waiting for some results, so I can’t come right now.  The machine says there’s one minute left so I can be there in ten, if that’s ok.”

“Sure.  See you in a bit then?”

“Yup.”

“I love you.” he murmured.

Molly clenched her fist so hard her nails dug into the palm of her hand.  “Me too.”

They rang off.  Me too?  Really?  She made a quiet noise of disgust as the centrifuge beeped, Molly took out the samples and peered at them.

“Well?” said Sherlock, who was suddenly a lot closer than she’d realised.

She jumped and turned, scowling up at him.  “Don’t do that!”

“The results, Molly.” he demanded, impatiently.

Molly tutted.  “Normal.” she said, thrusting the test tube at him.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” she replied tartly.  “Unless you can see something I can’t.”

Sherlock huffed.  “It is poison, it has to be.  Run it again.”

She glared at him, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

“Please.” he added grudgingly.

“I can’t, I have to meet Tom.”

He waved a hand dismissively.  “He can wait.”

“No he can’t.  I’m already almost an hour late.”

“Well just leave the key to the machine and I’ll do it myself.”

Molly shook her head.  “No, I can’t, I’ll get in trouble and you know it.  I’ll do it as soon as I get back.”

He grimaced and returned to his microscope.  “Fine.  Don’t be too long.”

She hummed and turned to the centrifuge, turning it off and removing the key which was needed to make it work.  When it was completely turned off, she span round again.  “Sherlock, just so you know, if I get back and find you’ve stolen this key, I will have you banned from all of the labs and the morgue for at least a month, maybe two.  And no amount of interference from Mycroft will get you back in.”

He dipped his head once.  “Noted.”

Shaking her head, she turned to leave, striding towards the doors.

“Molly.” he called.

She stopped and swivelled round.  “Yes."

His eyes were fixed on her, his expression was so intense it made her shiver.  Barely breathing, she waited for him to speak.

“We’re out of milk.” he said finally.

She couldn’t help the disappointment which flooded through her.  “But I just bought that bottle yesterday.”

Sherlock shrugged.

Molly tutted.  “You know _you_ could buy some, since you seem to be the one who uses most of it.”

“Preposterous idea.”

Tutting again, she left, stopping off in the office to lock away the key before collecting her things from her locker.  Just under ten minutes later she was in Caffé Nero, buying herself a white chocolate mocha and a large slice of chocolate cake, she wouldn’t normally but she needed the sugar. 

Tom stood up as she got to the table and enfolded her in a hug before kissing her enthusiastically.  “I’ve missed you.” he breathed pulling away.

She smiled weakly and slipped off her jacket and sat down.  “I missed you too.  I’m so sorry I forgot.”

“Mols, it’s fine.  Seriously, I know how hard you’ve been working recently.  I’m just glad it was nothing worse, I’ve been worried about you.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologising.” he admonished, sipping his cappuccino.

Her cheeks flushed as she dropped her gaze to her drink, as she gave it a stir her eyes were drawn to the sheaf of paper on the table in front of him.  “Oh!” she gasped.  “Oh, dammit!”

“What?”

“I forgot all of that information you printed out about the venues.”

Tom laughed, shaking his head.  “Honestly, what’s going on with you today?”

“I don’t know.  Sorry, brain like a sieve, it seems.” she muttered, still berating herself.

“Ah well…I’m sure you’ll remember which ones you liked.” he said, pushing his coffee to the side so he could spread out the papers.  “I think my favourite is Gravetye Manor.  I know it’s more expensive but there are rooms so people can stay and drink and the gardens will be nice for photos.  What d’you think?”

She winced, biting her lip.  “I um…I haven’t actually had a chance to look at them yet.”

His expression tightened infinitesimally.  “What?  You’ve had them for two weeks.”

“I know but work's been crazy and…”

“I’ve been busy at work too, Mols but this is our wedding, you should make time.”

“I know ok, I know…it’s just with all this overtime and we’re short staffed and...” she trailed off somewhat pathetically.

“You have had it for two weeks, surely you must’ve had some time to go through it.” he paused and sighed.  “Anybody’d think you don’t want to get married.”

She knew he was joking but still she froze, her heart jumped up to her throat and her palms got even sweatier than they had already been.

Tom’s face fell.  “Oh my god, you don’t do you?”

“I didn’t say anything.” she said quickly.

“You didn’t have to, Molly…your face said it all.”

“Tom…”

“No…” he bit out, cutting across her.  “…answer me this, honestly please.  Do you want to get married?”

And there it was, the million dollar question that she’d thus far avoided asking herself because she was terrified of the answer.  She swallowed hard, searching for the right thing to say, the trouble was she didn’t know what that was.  “I…” she started finally.  “…I don’t know.”

“Right…” he said, getting to his feet and pulling on his jacket.  “…right.” with that he strode out of the café.

“Tom!” she called, pushing herself too her feet, almost knocking the table over as she grabbed her bag and jacket and hurried after him.  “Tom!  Wait!” she cried as she burst out onto the street.  “Tom, please!!” she followed him down the road.  “Please, please just let me explain!” she was practically screaming and people were turning to stare but she didn’t care.  She couldn’t just let him walk away without explaining properly.

Abruptly he turned to face her.  “Go on then.  Explain.”

She drew in a deep breath, wondering exactly what to say now he was listening.  “It’s just…everything’s been so quick.  I mean, you proposed after six months and…”

“That’s-that’s rubbish Mols, and you know it.” he said crisply.  “I’m not stupid, it’s him.  Sherlock.”

Molly shook her head.  “Tom, this isn’t me ending things with you for him.” she said softly.  “I’m not an idiot.  I know how things are between me and him, how they’ve always been.  This is me ending things because I can’t…I can’t pretend anymore.”

“Pretend?”

“Yes, pretend.  I’m not…I’m not in love with you Tom.” she dropped her gaze to the scarred and pockmarked paving slabs under their feet.  “I thought that I was, I really did but then…”

“He came back.” Tom put in.

“Yes.” she breathed, lifting her head to look at him.  He looked sad but resigned somehow.  “And then things-things changed.”

“I know.” he said quickly, looking away from her.  “I know.  It was obvious.  But I was…I was ignoring it.  Hoping it would go away.” breaking off, he suddenly lifted his head again.  “I could go back to ignoring it.”

“W-what?” she stammered.

Tom stepped closer, gazing steadily into her eyes.  “Move away with me.”

She gaped at him.  “What?”

“Move away with me.  We could start again, just you and me.  Maybe not get married right away, maybe in a few months or years but we could have a whole new start.” he moved even closer and cradled her face.  “Think about it, Mols.”

“But-but…I’m not…I don’t…”

“I know, I heard you.  You’re not in love with me, but I’m in love with you and maybe that’s enough for now.”

“Tom…” she murmured.

But he shook his head.  “Just listen…ok, please.” she pressed her lips together and waited.  “We were ok before, weren’t we?  Before he came back we were fine, maybe we could be again.” he paused, his thumbs rubbing her cheekbones gently.  “We could be happy together, you know we could.  I could make you happy, give you whatever you want.  We could have a house, another dog or cats if you like…we could have kids and grow old together.  But here it’s like-like you’re too busy being his to even think about us.  We could go anywhere, anywhere in the world.  Everyone needs accountants and pathologists…just say the word, Mols.”

Molly stared up at his hopeful face.  It was almost like he was begging her to agree.  And she wanted to, she really did.  It would be so easy.  They probably could be happy just like he said, but she couldn’t help wondering how long for.  Slowly, she reached up and pulled his hands away from her face, letting them dropped before stepping away from him.  “I’m sorry, Tom but I can’t.  It wouldn’t be fair on you.  You say you’re in love with me now but you’d grow to resent me, I know you would because I don’t think I’ll ever feel the same for you as I do for him.  You’d hate me eventually.” she paused and smiled sadly, easing off her engagement ring and holding it out to him.  “I really wish things were different.”

Tom looked down at the proffered ring and shook his head.  “Keep it.”

“But it’s yours.” she insisted.  “You paid for it.”

He shrugged.  “But I bought it for you.  Sell it or something.”

Molly let her arm fall down to her side, clutching the ring so tightly it dug into the palm of her hand and her fingertips.  “I’m sorry, Tom…I’m so, so sorry.”

He gave her a small, sad smile.  “So am I.” with that he turned and walked away from her for the second time in ten minutes.

This time Molly just let him go, staring in the direction he’d left, long after he’d disappeared.


End file.
